New Year’s Day 2014
My Grandma emails me every year on New Year’s Day and tells me, “There’s an old Irish saying that says, ‘Don’t do anything on the first day of the year that you don’t want to do all year long.’”
Today I got up, ran on the treadmill, set some goals, wrote in my journal and hung out with my family. As I did a search on my website, I realized that I’ve done this exact same thing for the last three years in a row.
New Year’s Day is a time of reflection for me. It’s also a time that I try imagining my best possible self. Maybe this year I will actually follow through with some of my goals. But since we all know history has a tendency of repeating itself, the answer is, “Probably not.”
I guess we will know in about two weeks. Hopefully this year I can make it past two days.
I’m Gonna Show You How Great I Am
It’s my last week at work and I need a little inspiration to get me through. So here’s a little clip from “The Greatest.”
Moving On
“I can see better/
looking through the rearview mirror/
than I ever could see/
looking out over the hood.”
FL-GA Line
I gave my two weeks’ notice on Monday September 9th after 10 years of service with the St. Charles County jail.
When I told my Captain I was leaving, he said, “Well, I’m going to miss you. You’re one of the good ones. It’s like when we lost, ‘What’s his name?’ He went to St. Charles City. Remember him?”
“Whitman?” I said.
“No, not him,” he said.
“Henry?” I said.
“Noooo, not him either. He had a mustache. Was a park ranger…”
I thought for a minute and said, “Meynard?”
“Yeah! That’s it. Meynard.”
That is a perfect example of what will happen to the memory of me after I leave. Everyone liked all three of the Officers that I named. Then after they are gone for a few months, it often takes several minutes to even recall their names, if you can recall them at all.
I was talking to another veteran officer and he said, “Man, we’re like family up here at the jail. We see each other more than we do our own families most of the times. I think I could ask for help from most of the people here, and if I really needed it, they would help me. You ain’t going to get that where you’re going, at least not right away.”
I said, “Ok, but ask yourself this, how many people do you stay in contact with after they leave? Besides seeing them on Facebook, how many of them do you actually see in person?”
This officer has been working at the jail for 17 years. He has seen hundreds of officers come and go throughout the years. He thought about my question for a minute and then said, “Wow. I can honestly say none.”
I feel like I’m ending my second “mini-career.”
My first mini-career was working in restaurants and kitchens for 10 years; and believe me, I don’t miss it. My wife loves to watch cooking shows on T.V. and I hate it. Why? Because I lived it for 10 years.
The T.V shows don’t show the early mornings. They don’t show the burns up and down your arms. They don’t show you feeling like you’re living the same day over and over wondering why you’re doing this, until that one day that you decide, I’m not doing this anymore.
My second mini-career has been working in the criminal justice field. I started off thinking that I was going to go to law school. I worked for an attorney for two years, and then I got my B.S. in Criminal Justice from one of the top three criminology schools in the United States.
From there, I worked with juveniles for a year. I then worked for the 22nd Circuit Court at the St. Louis City holdover for two years interviewing people about their crimes and getting their background information.
From there, I went to work for the St. Charles County jail as a Corrections Officer for 6 years, and then was their Training Officer/Director for the last four years. Add it all up and that’s 15 years in this crazy field.
I don’t think I’m going to miss working in jails. I won’t miss the smell of urine that smacks you in the face when you walk through the door in the summer time, or fighting people covered in feces, or having people call you every name in the book on a weekly (or sometimes daily) basis.
What I will miss are the people, the stories and getting out of speeding tickets.
The positive side to this is, I don’t feel like I’m starting a whole new career. I’m going into healthcare training, which is obviously a different field. But I’ve been the Training Officer/Coordinator/Director for the jail for the last four years and I feel like I’m getting a four year head start in this new career. Hopefully this will be the one I retire from.
But if history repeats itself, I should be starting my next mini-career at 50-55 and that’s probably not the best time to start something new. Guess I’ll have to wait ten to fifteen years to find out.
September 11th
Today marks the 12th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.
There is a campaign underway to, “Take a day to remember the day that changed us forever.”
Queue Robert De Nero:
“Take a day to pause. Take a day to reflect. To explore. To learn. To honor the best in humanity that overcame the worst. To remember compassion. Kindness. Courage.”
I remember the day that changed me forever. I was working the midnight shift at the St. Louis City Holdover. I got off work at 7:00 am CST and went to sleep. Shortly after that, my ex-girlfriend started calling me repeatedly, but I kept sending her to voicemail.
After the fourth or fifth call, I finally answered the phone. My ex was frantic and she said, “Get up and turn on your T.V.”
“What? No. I’m sleeping,” I said.
“Just do it,” she said.
“I don’t want to watch T.V. I’m trying to sleep.”
“We’re under attack!” she screamed.
I jumped up and turned on the T.V. The first Tower had already been hit, but not the second.
I said, “We’re not under attack. A plane just flew into a building. There’s got to be some kind of explanation. I’m going back to bed.”
I hung up the phone and turned it off so no one else could wake up.
When I woke up, I turned on my phone and had about 20 messages. I could tell without even turning on the T.V. yet, that the whole world had changed. Forever.
Girl in the Window (Day 6)
What’s to say about a girl fixing her hair in an abandoned storefront window?
Pulled Over (Day 5)
I got pulled over this morning. It was about 2:15 am and I was on my way to work an overtime shift at the county jail.
The young cop walked up, shinned his flashlight in my face and said, “License and insurance please.”
I handed it to him and he said, “I pulled you over because you didn’t use your turn signal when you turned from Sulphur Springs onto Manchester,” which was three miles back, so I laughed out loud.
He shinned the flashlight in the car and saw my badge and said, “Who do work for?”
“I work at the county jail and that’s where I’m headed right now,” I said.
He handed back my license and insurance card and said, “Have a good day, brother.”
I wanted to say, “Thanks rookie,” but I didn’t and instead said, “You too,” and took off.
When you work in the field, getting out of petty tickets is part of the perks. But I later thought, he was just fishing for a DWI and for some reason that made me mad. But I guess it’s lucky he didn’t pull me over a few days ago around this time or there would have been a good chance that I went to work on my off day.
It’s just another reason that I’m taking a break from drinking.
Taking a Break from Drinking (Day 4)
A few days ago, I decided that after Labor Day, I was going to take a 30-day break from drinking. I drank heavily for the three days in a row—Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Each day had its own set of fun times and charm. There was lots of money spent that I shouldn’t have. There was arguing with people who I didn’t know, over things I didn’t know about. Headaches that lasted the whole next day that were blended with memories of things that shouldn’t have been said to people’s faces. Lovely times.
After three days of this, my liver told me it’s time to take a break. So did my head and wallet.
I’ve taken significant breaks from drinking many times in my life. But now that I’m 39 years old, I think I’d rather focus on something else more important in my life.
I only can imagine where I would be if I had stuck to my first major break at age 19. I’d probably be more successful than I am now. But then again, I never would have met my wife at that party and wouldn’t have had the courage to pull her into a vacant bedroom; which would also mean I wouldn’t have had my daughter.
I don’t feel regretful for drinking all these years. I just feel that I should be doing something a little more useful now that I’m older.
So tonight if you’re so inclined, please have one for me. And just to keep you entertained, here is a link on how to say “Cheers,” in 40 different languages.
My favorite being, “Okole Maluna!,” or “Bottoms Up,” in Hawaiian.
http://blog.beeriety.com/2010/04/20/how-to-say-cheers-is-40-languages/
“Salute!”
Labor Day Pool Party
Labor Day pool parties signal that summer is coming to an end.
Grilled brats and hamburgers, chips, homemade salsa, and a watermelon filled with vodka are what’s on our friend’s picnic-table.
Oiled-bodies bobbing in the water, with bikinis that are a little too small from a summer of too much drinking and not enough exercise leave some of the girls constantly adjusting their tops and bottoms to avoid a wardrobe malfunction.
Guys with bad tattoos slam beer at record pace, while the sun slips away in the western sky effectively closing the pool, as summer comes to an end.
(BTW, this is my 200th post. If I stick to my daily project, by this time next year, I will have over 500.)
Downward Spiral (Day 2)
I was working overtime on the midnight shift at the county jail when I wrote this one. There was a man locked in his cell who was schizophrenic. He stayed that way twenty-three hours a day and it was my job to make sure he didn’t hang himself.
Downward Spiral
Psycho-babel
“Punk-ass bitches!
I’m innocent!
When’s my outdate?”
the man screams.
He lies in crisis
naked on a concrete floor,
wreaking,
the words “Nooooo! No, no, no, no. Nooooooo!”
escapes his Ted Kaczynski beard.
The radio crackles,
“Go ahead with your counts.”
“Count in K—King 5,L—Lincoln has 22. 433.”
433, being the officer’s badge number.
“That’s clear. K-King 5, L—Lincoln has 22.”
As the count is rattled off I hear,
“Have a happy, happy birthday,
because I can do this for years!
Paralysis from lights, swirling around
in my brain,
around and
around and
around.”
Beep!—Pipe check,
insuring you’ve actually
looked in the cell.
Everyone’s alive.
But who know what will happen
in the next 15 minutes?
Make Art, Not War (365 Daily Project Day 1)
I have decided what I want to do for my 365-Day Daily Project.
I’m going to pick writing as my medium. And the topic that I’m picking is going to be based on what is written at the top of my homepage, “Observations on the human experience,” in 500 words or less.
The reason I’m saying 500 words or less is because I don’t want to put too much pressure on myself. When I decide to write a piece for my blog, it might not look like it, but it can often take several hours with editing and what not.
Things may evolve over a year, and I might lift the self-imposed 500 word limit if it advances the essay. But I really want to stick to two double-spaced pages or less.
I also have made the decision that I’m probably not going to post an essay, poem, or blurb every single day. I have several reasons for that:
1. I really don’t like to turn on my computer on the weekends.
2. I don’t want to have to deal with it while I’m out of town.
3. I just don’t want to start flooding my reader’s inboxes every day.
So if I don’t post daily, that doesn’t mean I didn’t do one. I might combine a couple of days together in one, I’m not sure yet. It’s a work in process. Besides, I don’t know how long (or short) each post will be. I’m sure that there will be some days that the “6-word story,” will seem like a good option.
Yesterday was the first day starting this project and I already wrote four new pieces. I also typed up two other poems that I had written down on napkins a couple of weeks ago that I didn’t do anything with.
So now that I’m almost a week ahead of myself, let me give you the best “6-word story” ever written on a part of the human experience that no one would wish on anybody. This story was written by one of the best writers this planet has ever seen. It goes:
For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn.
Ernest Hemingway